Secrets in the Shadows
by Purple Fire Lily
Summary: Harry ran after Sirius through the veil and ended up in another universe. Then it all turned upside down. He is turned into a baby who has problems with maintaining his features unchanging. And he isn't the only one... H/G SB/OC
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**Halloween, 1980**

**Godric's Hallow**

The night was cold, colder than any other had been that year in Godric's Hallow. Middle of autumn was rarely truly cold in British Isles, but it seemed that a perpetual gloom and a sense of darkness had settled over Great Britain. Still, it didn't stop children from enjoying Halloween, but their parents were more tense and worried because of all the disappearances that had been occurring all over the country. This was part of the gloom — hearing about someone dying or someone found missing practically every day was taking its toll. Thankfully no one had disappeared from this little village. Such a disappearance would have been noticed quite fast — this village was so small that everybody knew everybody and these tense times meant that neighbours looked more closely than usual.

But there was one house and its inhabitants that had slipped the notice of the villagers. The house was on the outskirts of the little village and was hidden by magic from prying eyes. Usually a black haired bespectacled man, a beautiful red-headed woman and a baby with black hair on his head and green eyes that shone with happiness could be seen (or couldn't, in this case). This night something was different — a man with longish black hair and stormy grey eyes was in this little homey cottage with the little green eyed child. The young man was quite obviously very fond of the young child he was making funny faces at.

"Harry, smile for me?"

Sirius really loved his little godson — the child had him wrapped around his little, chubby finger ever since Sirius had first held him. All he wanted to do right now was continue playing with this little boy. However, this wish to play with Harry was overshadowed by his mother's instructions of a strict bedtime. Lily would have Sirius's head if she found out that he had kept Harry up longer than he should have. He had finally settled into a schedule and Lily and James had decided to get some much needed alone time, but the strict instructions for Sirius showed that the little boy would be on their mind.

"Come here, little one. Time for bed!" Sirius reached for Harry and was just about to pick him up when a noise at the door startled him. Sirius knew that Lily and James wouldn't be home for quite a while yet — this was their first evening out since the little tyke was born. He straightened, took out his wand and cautiously moved towards the hallway to which the front door opened. However his slow calculated steps turned into a run when he heard an explosion.

What he saw in the hallway almost made him pause, but the first spell was on his lips immediately. It didn't hit and was swatted away as if it had been an annoying fly. However it gained Sirius a precious second he needed to assess the situation. He only had one opponent, but Sirius would have taken three of inner circle Death Eaters much more gladly than this one man. Voldemort.

Sirius fought with everything he had — his and his godson's life was at risk, but Voldemort's superior skills and much higher power level shoved almost immediately when a cutting curse slipped past the younger man's shield and cut a deep gash along his left arm — his dominant hand. Soon Sirius could no longer keep up and another cutting curse lost him his balance. The hallway was in a sorry state — full of debris that had come to be when Sirius had dodged a hex that would have turned his internal organs into a bloody mess. When the cutting hex from Voldemort hit, Sirius tried to step back, but found himself tripping on the debris.

"The proud Black family scion not so proud anymore." The hissing voice provoked Sirius to try shoot off another spell and he was happy to see it hit. Blacks weren't a family to make fun of, even if Sirius hated most of his relatives. Some of the pureblood pride had left its marks on him and the nifty family magic that he had had access to had saved his life more than once. It was not strictly light, or Sirius a completely light wizard, because, for him, a spell that helped to save a life was worth using, as long as it wasn't meant to torture — some lines he wouldn't cross.

The spell that Sirius hit Voldemort with was a curse meant to disrupt a person's magic and he used it as a last resort — if he wouldn't be there in the future he could at least make it harder for Voldemort to kill. Sadly, he knew that it wouldn't help him — the spell's effects weren't immediate, but Sirius hoped that it would help Harry. A hiss from his opponent was all the warning Sirius had for the next spell headed his way. Sirius's injuries were not life threatening but crippling enough that he had no chance to get out of the way of the next spell.

_"Avada Kedavra"_

That wasn't the last time that these two words were said in that house in that night. The first time had let the crying of a baby be heard after the sound of the duel had blocked it for some time. The second time left the house quiet.

Eerily quiet.

* * *

><p><strong>Halloween, 1980<strong>

**London**

James and Lily Potter were sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant, but the seemed to see little of their surroundings — their eyes were practically always on each other.

"I'm glad that we could get out of the house for a bit." James's words provoked a lift of eyebrows from his wife of two years.

"You know what I mean Lily." But right after the words came out of his mouth he paled.

The red headed woman didn't get to answer because James jumped out of his seat suddenly and ran towards the door while saying the wards had been breached. Lily ran after her husband almost immediately. She was almost ready to apparate right from the restaurant directly, but the knowledge that a dark alley was right around the corner allowed her to keep odd occurrences to the minimum for the muggles seated around the tables.

It wasn't long until Lily and James were able to get to Godric's Hallow, but by then it was already up in flames. James had to hold his wife back because the few remaining wards let him know that nobody was alive in the house. Tears started streaming down his cheeks even while his wife was fighting against his hold. Soon both of them were sobbing and hugging.

* * *

><p><strong>March 17, 1981<strong>

**Wales, Potter Manor**

Lily opened her eyes and saw an off white ceiling. Sometimes she expected to see the sky blue ceiling of her bedroom in their house at Godric's Hallow and everything that it had meant. Her son in the room across the hall. Her husband next to her and his smile the first thing she would see in the morning (he rarely smiled these days). Sirius coming over to stuff his face with the food she would cook and playing with his little godson until Lily had to scold him to hand over the child. Only thing she hated about those days was the chubby, timid man that they so readily had called a friend, a friend that had betrayed them.

Lily's musings were cut short when she smelled the breakfast that the house elves had prepared. Usually the smell was delicious, but this morning it made Lily incredibly nauseous. The distance to the bathroom almost proved to be too great, but she made it.

After she was done she rinsed her mouth with water and went into her bedroom again. James was halfway awake, but when he greeted her she didn't answer. As if in a daze she reached for her wand and waved it in a complex pattern over her stomach. A symbol made of white light appeared over it and slowly turned red.

Only this seemed to break her out of her reverie, but she managed to say only one thing before going back into her daze.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

><p><strong>March 21, 1981<strong>

**Ottery St. Catchpole, the Burrow**

Molly Weasley was a formidable woman. After giving birth to six sons she would have to be. Her eldest, William, or Bill as he was often called was ten years old and couldn't wait to be off to Hogwarts. Charles, or Charlie, was currently eight and wouldn't leave his older brother alone even for a moment, which resulted in more than one fight. Her four year old Percival, or Percy, was in the phase where everything was a question that needed an answer. Thankfully he had found an old picture book and was absorbed in it, but Molly was sure that he was about to find something to ask about. The twins Fred and George who were just shy of two would be called terrors by anyone else — they always managed to sneak off and break something. Ronald, or Ron, was currently the youngest, being just a year old. Right now his strong attachment to an old chess piece was the only thing that gave Molly a pause, but Molly was sure that he would find a way to give her grey hairs soon enough — he was a Weasley after all. Besides, Molly was sure that her sixth child would not be the last one and where there is a younger sibling to corrupt there is trouble. She was currently four and a half months pregnant and as happy as a mother could be when she hadn't had a quiet moment in months, years even. A scream sounded from the kitchen as if to prove her right.

The scream did little to startle her, but she couldn't help but rush towards the sound anyways, being used to sounds like these she knew that at least one of her children was very upset. Because of this she didn't watch her steps as carefully as she should have. She tripped and started falling down the stairs. She felt as if falling in slow motion and tried to turn herself in a way that would let her protect her unborn child, but her tumble took a violent turn and she fell headfirst down the stairs.

Molly Weasley's last thought before blacking out was about the scream that she had heard moments earlier — she hoped that everybody was fine. A day later she would wake up and find out that all six of her children were fine. However, there would be no seventh brother or first sister joining them — ever.

* * *

><p><strong>April 25, 1981<strong>

**London, Diagon Alley**

Alice Loongbottom was on duty on Diagon Alley. She would have loved to be home with her son and husband, but Voldemort, the self stylized lord, had declared a war against those supporting muggle and muggleborn rights. This meant that every able bodied auror was on duty as often as possible. Sometimes this meant sitting around the auror office and waiting for a call about attacks just to arrive at a place that was already destroyed. Sometimes the aurors arrived in time to save someone, but not often. After the attack they had to dig through the rubble for survivors (Death Eaters rarely left buildings standing), visit the relatives of those that died and try to find something to identify the attackers.

Other times being an auror meant standing around for hours and be on alert at all times. On the lucky days, nothing happened. This resulted in her returning home cold and often wet, but happy that nobody had died. On bad days attacks happened.

Alice was about ready to end her shift and mark this day as one of the lucky ones, when she heard a series of pops, signalling arrival of a large group of people. The young auror didn't need a lot of time to see that this group was not friendly — the black cloaks and white mask pronounced loud and clear who they were and what was their purpose.

Alice whispered: "_Expecto Patronus" _and thought about the moment when she first held her little Neville. A silvery bear formed from the mist she had conjured.

"Diagon Alley. Thirty Death Eaters. Anti- Apparition wards. Use portkeys."

With barely a thought the bear flew in the air with much more grace than any real bear could manage.

With the message sent, Alice started moving towards the black figures. She knew that the other two aurors scheduled on Diagon duty would have already started to secure exits. It was up to her to keep Voldemort's minions distracted. So she didn't wait to shoot a spell at them. It was a basic blasting hex, but packed with more power than usual. It hit the cobbled street about half a meter from two Death Eaters. They were immediately thrown back by the blast.

For a few moments the view was obscured, but it didn't deter Alice for a moment. She shot three spells off before the Death Eaters started casting. They were as blind as her in terms of seeing the target and the spells went wide — Alice at least had multiply people to shoot at. Some Death Eaters also seemed to be shooting towards their comrades and from the sound of it they had much better luck hitting each other than Alice.

Finally, someone managed to create a breeze and the dust was blown away. Immediately the Death Eaters started advancing towards her. They were fewer in numbers now, but one against twenty was only a little better than one against thirty. So Alice went for cover behind a table on the veranda of an ice-cream shop. For a few moments the table held, but plain wood was no match for thirty Death Eaters, so Alice was soon in the open again. What she saw when she came out of her cover made her insides freeze over. Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the worst Death Eaters to face.

Alice froze for a moment and hesitated — the absolute worst thing she could have done — and Bellatrix shot a spell at her.

"_Fecunditatis Amissa_" Alice had no time to dodge or duck the spell. It hit her right in the stomach and knocked her down. She felt excruciating pain around the area that the spell had hit and started to black out. Half conscious she heard words that chilled her to the bone.

"No more blood traitors from you..."

* * *

><p><strong>June 4, 1981<strong>

**Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor**

"Young Draco will be a year old tomorrow, won't he?" The shrill voice of his wife's aunt grated in his ears, but Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not patient when money and power were involved. Walburga Black's visit was an almost certain prelude to a transfer of power between Black and Malfoy families. Ever since her husband had died Walburga had been in charge of the family business, but the name of Black had been losing its power bit by bit over the two years since one Orion Black had died. The situation had worsened after the deaths of the last two scions of the direct Black line — the Black family, once so powerful, was now only few years off from complete extinction. At least the Black surname was. Lucius Malfoy hoped that the money, assets and the political alliances would be passed onto the Malfoy line. His wife, after all, was a Black by birth.

"He will be that." A smirk that could be interpreted as proud in bad lighting, but was actually very conceited if seen in sunlight showed on Lord Malfoy's face. "He has already shown bouts of accidental magic." Lucius left it at that — he let Walburga think of the implications of the words for a moment. Malfoy line was secure — completely opposite of the situations Black line was in. _Put the future of the Black in my hands — _those were Lucius's thoughts on the subject. He would be chanting those words aloud if he didn't think that it would serve no purpose in gaining what he wanted. He settled for linking his fingers together and looking at Walburga over the ornate table.

The room they were in was meant for work and didn't show the wealth of Malfoy family in the obvious ways that it showed itself in other rooms. Here it was displayed in the subtle grace of furniture and crystal beauty of the glasses arranged on the mantle of the fireplace. It was heard in the clear ticking of the large clock that stood by the door. The curtains were dark green and the quality was obvious, but somehow masked by the grace of the whole study. Put together the decor couldn't be called warm or even flashy, but to the kind of people that Lucius Malfoy worked with it was impressive. To Walburga Black they were just reminders of what she had come to do today — secure the future of Black line _and name._

"When my eldest son was a year old I was already with my second child. After all, one child, or two even, can't be all that a line and name as powerful as Malfoy depend on. You can see in what kind of situation I am in and I had two sons." Walburga didn't express any kind of emotion talking about her dead sons. Sirius had always been a problem child and very little of her affection had bestowed on him, but Regulus was another matter. Her younger son had been the golden boy — following family ideals and even joining the Dark Lord in his campaign against the mudblood scum. However, something had gone wrong and here she was — childless mother that was about to use the carrot and stick method to force somebody to have a child. But Walburga Black was nothing if not pureblood to the very end and such a little thing as morals would not stand in the way of Black family's continued existence.

"I know you want to become the head of house Black, but it would not be possible. I know that there is a stipulation in the rules that you, as the head of Malfoy house, have to follow and it is unchangeable — you can never have any other surname than Malfoy. There is also a stipulation in the rules for the head of the Black house — the head has to have the surname Black. It doesn't have to be the only surname that the head has, but it has to be passed on. This means that nor you, nor anyone can ever become the head of both these houses. I was not born yesterday and I know that that was your plan. But if you hope to gain anything besides money, like the debts owed and alliances sworn to the house of Black, you have to have another child that would take on the responsibility of becoming the head of the family upon reaching the right age. Remember Lucius, the day that the name of Black disappears will be the day all contracts with the house are terminated." Walburga knew that Lucius hadn't known about the rule for the Malfoy head of house — to Lucius it would only seem as a limitation to the power one could gain, but to those who had created the rule it would be a safeguard against the name of Malfoy being lost. Walburga could practically see the wheels turning in Lucius's head and felt obligated to add the stick to the carrot that she was already dangling in front of her niece's husband.

"If you do not agree, I will go to Andromeda who already has a daughter and whose husband is a muggleborn that has no loyalty to any other ancient house. I am sure that he would agree to change his surname and have another child — after all, he would have much more to gain than to lose in this endeavour. And before you say that I wouldn't do it, think what is more important to me — the power that the Black name is or the addition of fresh blood to the family? After all, more and more people have started to think that being too closely related to each other can be a bit unhealthy."

The words that were flowing from his wife's aunt's mouth sounded like a blasphemy to Lucius, but he knew what the right surname meant in the wizarding world and quite a few of the families would have no problems of accepting a muggleborn in their midst. Black name would lose some of the prestige that it now held, but it would go on and that would leave the possibility for rebuilding open.

"This is not a decision to be made lightly, Walburga." Lucius's voice was grave and it was meant to unsettle Lady Black, but she had lived a lifetime of politics and was no more unsettled by the tone than she had been by any of Lucius's previous words, which was not.

"Yes, it is not. I believe that you should talk to your wife soon. And remember, I am old, and Black name dies with me. The clock is ticking."

With those words Walburga Black stood and left Lucius Malfoy's study and left him alone in a room where the only sound was the ticking of the large clock that stood by the door. The hands showed that it was barely past noon, but a sudden tiredness swept over Lucius and his thoughts turned towards his wife. _Narcissa can't have children anymore — having Draco almost killed her._


	2. Departure, Journey and Arrival

**Departure, Journey and Arrival**

**June 18, 1996**  
><strong>London, Ministry of Magic<strong>

"He hasn't gone!" Harry yelled.

He did not believe it, he would not believe it; still he fought Lupin with every bit of strength he had: Lupin did not understand, people hid behind that curtain, he had heard them whispering the first time he had entered the room – Sirius was hiding, simply lurking out of sight –

"SIRIUS!" he bellowed, "SIRIUS!"

"He can't come back, Harry," said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. "He can't come back, because he's d –"

"HE – IS – NOT – DEAD!" roared Harry. "SIRIUS!"

There was movement going on around them, pointless bustling, the flashes of more spells. To Harry it was meaningless noise, the deflected curses flying past them did not matter, nothing mattered except that Lupin stop pretending that Sirius, who was standing feet from them behind that old curtain, was not going to emerge at any ¬ moment, shaking back his dark hair and eager to re-enter the battle –

Lupin dragged Harry away from the dais, Harry still staring at the archway, angry at Sirius now for keeping him waiting –

But some part of him realized, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before. … Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry, to help him. … If Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back.

With a burst of strength born from anger and despair, Harry broke free of Lupin's tight grip. Without pause he ran towards the archway, towards the Veil of Death. The way to the Veil wasn't long and only took a few short moments, but in those few moments his thoughts managed to turn hundred and eighty degrees — from the man he was running towards to the friends he was leaving behind. He knew that Sirius couldn't be just hiding; he would have rejoined the fight if he was able. Harry had no way of knowing where the Veil would lead him, lead them. These thoughts didn't make him falter, but they certainly made him wonder. He had seen his godfather fall through the Veil and it had been devastatingly painful. This pain was something he would be causing his friends - losing him to the Veil would create a world of pain for those who cared about him. He still didn't stop, but a promise was made in those few moments. _I will come back._ Sadly, he was the only one who knew about it.

He didn't know how long it would take to fulfil this promise, but he was sure that he would find a way to come back; after all, he could be very stubborn and determined when he wanted to be. He was aware that coming back would be hard, impossible even, and Mrs. Weasley would make her opinion about his actions heard very clearly and loudly, but one of the last links that he had to his family had gone through the Veil and he couldn't lose that sense of finally being part of something. He just put one foot in front of the other and continued on his way that could not in any way be called merry. Left foot, right foot - again and again until he felt the tattered curtains touch his skin. In just a few moments Harry James Potter was gone from the Department of Mysteries as if he had never been there.

Harry felt as if he was swimming. Something that seemed like water at first was pressing him from all sides in a pleasant way. All sense of time was lost to him — it seemed as if every muscle he had was completely relaxed. He hadn't felt this good in what seemed like forever. Harry couldn't bring himself to care — an hour or even ten years could have gone by and he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between the two. He just knew that no matter how long he spent that way it wouldn't be enough. And it came to an end, an unpleasant one at that. Suddenly he couldn't move and the water that had been so pleasant and relaxing just moment before became freezing. In a few moments he couldn't feel anything anymore — the icy water had frozen him in a way that left him awake, somehow aware, but completely unfeeling.

Harry had closed his eyes when he stepped through the Veil and hadn't opened them since. Now, when he tried, he couldn't — his eyelashes had been frozen together. And yet he saw everything turning fiery orange — the colour was so bright that it penetrated his eyelids. Soon he was able to open his eyes — with the change of colours, the place he was in had started to warm up rapidly. What he saw made him gasp, or, at least, he tried to gasp. He couldn't do it — there wasn't any air in his lungs. _I haven't breathed since coming through the Veil._ He didn't get to continue this train of thoughts — the wall of orange flames that had made him want to gasp was coming closer. It was hotter than any flame that Harry had had the dubious fortune of touching — this one wasn't even as close as two meters from him and his skin was already starting to burn.

Harry tried to turn around and run, but his body refused to listen to him — he wasn't able to move anything. The flames just kept coming closer and closer, until they were just mere millimetres away from his face. And then he was surrounded by the fire. However, the pain and burning had stopped the moment that it happened — Harry felt as if he was a part of the fire, but it didn't seem to want him there. The fire around him was still unsettling so he tried to distract himself from it, but a wall of flame that covered everything was pretty attention grabbing. However, his distraction techniques worked, in a way, and led him to thinking about something, or someone that could be as fiery as real flames and had the hair to match them. A girl that had been touched by the same darkness as him and learned to cope with it, seemingly much better than him. A girl that was able to get him out of his bad moods and wasn't afraid to walk surefooted around him, contrary to everybody else. A girl that wasn't afraid to break the rules if it meant helping a friend. A girl he had last seen hurt and unable to defend herself because she had decided to follow him into danger. Ginevra Molly Weasley — a girl whose life he had saved and the one who had reminded him that he was not the centre of the world and existing wasn't the same thing as living. He hoped that she was all right — he hadn't left her, or any of his friends for that matter, in the best of conditions.

His distraction from the world around him wasn't meant to last and sudden excruciating pain pulled him out of his thoughts. It felt as if he was being ripped apart by something and it seemed that some of his parts were resisting it. The sharpest and most agonising pain came from the area his head might have been, from his scar. Suddenly all the pulling stopped and Harry felt lighter and the bliss of not feeling any pain was so big that he didn't notice that he couldn't feel anything. He could still think but no physical sensation surfaced. It was as if he was just a bundle of consciousness floating around, but just until it wasn't floating anymore and something started to attach itself to Harry's consciousness. The pain started up again, but it felt as if someone with the coordination of a newborn was trying to put him back together. This time Harry had the good sense to just black out and the pain was no more, for a while at least.

* * *

><p><strong>July 2, 1996<br>Scotland, Hogwarts**

Albus Dumbledore was worried. In his long life, a life longer than even most wizards lived, he remembered very few separate occasions he had been so worried. The first time had been right before he had faced Grindelwald for their last battle. Albus had held little hope of surviving the fight because he knew that he could never bring himself to kill his first love and the wand that Gellert had in his possession didn't give any more reasons for hope. In the end it had been a mistake made by the other man that had enabled Dumbledore to win. Four words spoken by his once friend had spurred him to step up his spell work a notch.

"It was your curse!"

Albus had wondered for years who was responsible for little Ariana's death. These words from Grindelwald had at first angered the now old man — they had pushed the guilt and grief that he had harboured since his little sister's death years previously to the forefront of his mind and transformed it to a seething anger. Albus had gotten angry at Gellert for bringing his little, innocent sister into the fight that had absolutely nothing to do with her. For this reason alone Albus refused to even think of the possibility that Gellert had told the truth. The words had angered him and given him a reason to fight even more forcefully and enabled him to win against an opponent with an unbeatable wand. However, later on, these words started to haunt him and continued to haunt him even to the time that the white haired headmaster found himself in at the present.

The second time Albus Dumbledore had found himself this worried was right after a duel with Lord Voldemort, a man that had once been the best and the smartest and often the most talented student of his year — Tom Marvolo Riddle. To everyone else that duel had been no different than any other, before or after, between the two powerful wizards — it had ended at a standstill. This duel had made Dumbledore realise that he couldn't beat Voldemort. This realisation wasn't like the sense of dread that had almost paralyzed the old professor before his fights with Grindelwald, this was pure terror that he couldn't afford to show to anyone, a terror of realising that people were dying and the only thing he could do was stall for time. Thankfully he didn't need to stall for long — a prophecy was made and Dumbledore started hoping that the war could be won — maybe he could even survive it...

The third time that the Headmaster had reached the level of worry that he was experiencing now had to do with the same prophecy. When word of a breach in the wards of Potter house on Halloween, 1981 had reached him a rumour had come along with the message, a rumour of the death of all the Potters — including the youngest member of the family. Thankfully, little Harry had survived and become the Chosen One or, as he was more commonly recognised — The-Boy-Who-Lived. The first title was known to precious few, not even the boy himself knew that he was, but, to Dumbledore's mind, the fewer the better. He knew that he would have had to tell Harry about it at one point or another, but he could never bring himself to erase the last bits of normality in Harry's life. Even then, he sometimes couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a mistake.

"I wonder — if he had known of the prophecy, would he have run after Sirius?" In his distracted state Dumbledore had spoken these words out loud. No human, besides Dumbledore himself, could be found in the circular office, but a somehow scolding note sounded from the phoenix lounging on a special perch by the bookcase. Phoenixes were said to be very smart and the headmaster answered to his long time companion's note as if Fawkes had said something in clear English and could understand every word spoken.

"I realize that there is no use wondering, but I can't seem to stop myself." Fawkes eyed the old man, but Dumbledore just smiled ruefully. Dumbledore had long since learned that he shouldn't ignore Fawkes and the advice he gave, but sometimes thoughts he was unable to ignore just snuck up on him and didn't leave.

On this day he was again weighted down with thoughts of Harry Potter. For the past fifteen years this hadn't been an unusual state, but even looking back at them these past two weeks the weight of these thoughts was a lot harder to bear. Harry Potter, as far as anyone knew, was dead. Nobody had come out of the Veil of Death. Nobody could tell if this Veil was a door or just a death sentence. Very few people had tried to find out its secrets and none of them had left their notes in easily accessible places. For the last four centuries the Department of Mysteries had had the veil in their possession, and Dumbledore knew that they had conducted extensive research on it, but he didn't have the clearance to get to it. No matter how many titles the old man had achieved in his long life, head of the most secretive branch of Ministry of Magic was not one of them and only the head of this department had full access to the research conducted there.

This train of thought had come and gone multiple times in past two weeks, but Dumbledore didn't want to give up hope because that was all he had left. Still, he had a chance to find some more information about the Veil, because it was much older than four hundred years and Unspeakables weren't the only ones to ever be interested in it.

In front of Albus Dumbledore was a book. It laid innocently on his cluttered desk and didn't seem out of place. It wasn't thick or big, but at a closer look would show it was a dark blue notebook with initials R.R. and a crest similar to that of Ravenclaw house. Many people would be ready to pay fortune for this little notebook, but they would soon doubtlessly discover, as Dumbledore had, that it was of no use to anyone but a Ravenclaw that was one by blood. At first the old man had tried to break the spells on the notebook, but it had proven to be beyond his skill. He was a very accomplished wizard, but curse breaking was not one of the fields he had mastered. He had some knowledge on the subject, but it would require true mastery to even find a way to open the little notebook, let alone read it. For a brief moment he had entertained a thought of asking for help from a professional curse breaker, but then he had realized that the only one he could trust was the oldest of the younger Weasleys — William Weasley. If it had only been a matter of trust and skill Dumbledore wouldn't have hesitated but there was also a family matter involved.

The first big reason against asking young Bill for help was Ronald Weasley — the youngest Weasley boy. Ron had been a part of the student force in the Department of Mysteries the fateful night that Harry had ran through the Veil. Ron hadn't been a witness to this event because he had tangled with a brain and didn't have a chance to reach the Veil room. Ron still hadn't woken up and had taken up residence in St. Mungo's spell damage ward along with his friend Hermione who was also a resident. Her condition wasn't as hard to treat as Ron's, but it would still be quite a bit of time until she would be fully recovered. Luckily neither Luna Lovegood nor Neville Longbottom had had any injuries more serious than a few broken bones and those had easily been mended. However, only four out of six teenagers that had left Hogwarts could be accounted for. One of the two missing was Harry, the other — Ginny Weasley.

She was the second reason that Dumbledore hesitated to ask Bill for help. A family member that was in a hospital and on his way to recover, even if that road would be walked in small, measured steps was one thing, but asking help that would require complete dedication to breaking a spell without damaging the object it would have to be taken off was something else. A big brother worried for his little sister couldn't be asked to just put everything aside for the boy that, in his eyes, might have been responsible for the young girl's disappearance in the first place, couldn't be entrusted with this kind of work.

Dumbledore expelled a small breath of air rather forcefully and it made his phoenix look at him.

"Do you think they are all right?"

The question seemed a bit futile, because he had seen both Sirius and Harry fall through the Veil and the only Death Eater that had escaped and would have had a chance to take Miss Weasley had been Bellatrix Lestrange. Lestrange was a woman infamous for the nonexistence of a moral code or sanity in any part of her body. This made Dumbledore think that finding the youngest Weasley alive could be worse than finding her dead. He hoped beyond hope that finding her alive and with her mind in one piece would still be a possibility. He didn't wish the fate of Frank and Alice Longbottom on anyone.

Harry's situation seemed as if it was no better, but Albus had mulled all over and around it and still no straight answer could be found. However, a small note could be heard from the phoenix. It did little to shed light on the situation, but it gave Dumbledore reason to continue on with his research, for it, even laced with sorrow and quite a bit of pain, made him believe that everything would be alright. It was a note of hope.

* * *

><p><strong>October 31, 1981<br>London, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

Sirius Black came to slowly, his mind muddled and slow to react, but voices that had woken him had managed to break through the wall of drowsiness in his mind. They seemed familiar, but Sirius couldn't place them. The talkers were two men.

"…street, when somebody almost ran him over."

"Who would be so cruel, leaving a child for a certain death? If he hadn't had magic, he probably wouldn't have survived."

"It's possible that the magic was the reason for his parents leaving him. You know that unusual things scare people. And if your baby changes his hair colour from black to sunny yellow right after birth it could be very scary for somebody who has no experience with magic."

"I am aware of that. However, it's still no excuse to leave an unprotected baby for certain death. I admit that colour changing can be a bit odd, but even that is no reason for doing something like this, James."

Hearing that name, even if he was aware that it couldn't be the person he was thinking of, made Sirius's eyes shoot open, and what he saw surprised him more than anything else ever had.

"Oh, look James! He's awake!"

"And changing colours again, I see."

He was so intent on staring at his long dead friend and much younger and happier looking Remus that it took him some time to notice that something was very odd. Very, very odd. First, he felt small. Second, he needed to look up to see James and Remus, when he had been taller than either of his two friends that were standing right in front of him. Third he was in a box with glass walls. It had no lid, but Sirius was able to see through the sides of the box. He tried to reach for his friends, hoping that they would help him get out of the box, but he stopped when his hand came into view. It was not the hand he had had when he last saw it. For one, the hand was completely clean and that was rare to see with all the dirt and grime that Grimmauld Place had acquired over the years. The hand was not thin and calloused. Actually it was the complete opposite — it was slightly chubby and really, really small. As small as Harry's had been when he was born. The hand that Sirius was pretty sure was his was the hand of a baby. And it was his.


	3. Another Departure

**Another Departure  
>July 3, 1996<br>England, Little Hangleton**

_„Crucio"_

The pain was unbearable. Ginny no longer tried to keep in the screams. At first she had tried. But with time she had figure out that there was no point. So she just let them out. No matter how loud she was, no matter how agony filled the screams were, Ginny always heard the maniacal laughter of her main torturer. Bellatrix wasn't always there, but the first few days Ginny had spent in her cell were spent with Bellatrix and the evil witch's laughter for company. Bellatrix loved to torture. Nothing was more entertaining than breaking Ginny apart and the healing her, just to start again from the very beginning.

Ginny was in her cell, her oh not so glamorous living quarters for the time that had seemed like years, but was only few days, two weeks at most. She had been there ever since the failed rescue mission that had led her and five others to the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. The young redhead couldn't blame her brother's best friend for the predicament she was in, but a small part of her sometimes wished she hadn't fallowed him. Then she felt angry at that part of her and guilty for the thoughts it brought to her mind — Harry had saved her from the Chamber of Secrets, almost at the cost of his own life. She still had nightmares where Fawkes hadn't healed Harry and he had died. Even to this day Ginny felt that she owed Harry and fallowing him had been a way to repay this debt, even if it hadn't turned out the way they had hoped that it would — with Sirius safe and them unscathed. Ginny just hoped that all the others had come out of the Department of Mysteries in a better shape than she had.

Ginny's thoughts focused on Lord Voldemort - she knew that he was to blame for tricking Harry into going to the Ministry in first place — a trap meant to capture more than just Harry, a trap that hadn't worked in the end. Harry was nowhere to be seen and the prophecy was broken as far as she had gathered. She just hoped that the information the little orb contained was truly lost to Voldemort. She realised that the prophecy was important to Tom and hoped that the snake faced man would never get his hands on it. Ginny was happy that Voldemort's current pursuit of the exact wording of the prophecy was futile — she was his only lead for it, because, somewhere in his twisted mind he had decided that she could know at least some part of the prophecy — after all she was one of the last people Harry had talked to after finding the orb. To get the information he needed old Tom was ready to do anything, but he didn't want to dirty his hands with blood traitor trash like her — at least that was what is pet Death Eaters told her when they came to play with her.

Death Eater games weren't tag or chess. The games played by them were much more painful - for her, at least. Ginny couldn't remember how many bones they had broken, or how many times she had been under the Cruciatus curse. Only thing she knew was that there was no place on her body that didn't hurt.

"Itty, bitty baby, are you ready to talk?" Bellatrix asked, her voice sounding like that of toddler's. At any other time Ginny would have answered with a witty comment, but now she didn't have the strength to even lift her head — practically all of her will to fight had left her. All she could do was relish the coldness of the stone floor — it gave her some relief from the burning that the cruciatus caused. Bellatrix saw that she would get no answer as long as Ginny was that exhausted. Voldemort's right hand woman walked out of the cell to look for something, not even bothering to close the cell doors — she knew that the youngest Weasley child wouldn't go anywhere.

Ginny saw Bellatrix leaving and tried to sit up, or move in any other way, but she couldn't — her strength had left her long before she had lost count of how many Cruciatus curses she had been under. Suddenly, she heard voices not far from her cell. These voices were both familiar to her — one was the voice of her torturer, burned in her memory almost as deeply as the voice of Tom Riddle, the other voice she couldn't place - her mudded mind didn't let her remember.

"I've heard that you have gotten yourself a new toy." The voice was definitely man's and very few of the ones she knew would let themselves be caught dead in a place like this.

"You have heard right, but it's your job, hearing things I mean." Bellatrix's words seemed casual enough, but her tone seemed suspicious. "As for the toy, Severus, you can report to the muggle loving fool that one of his blood traitor boot lickers soon will be dead."

"So, the Weasley isn't dead yet? I hoped that she had perished at your hand already." The silky voice she had heard so many times — her potions teacher's voice, but she couldn't believe that he would say something like that. Severus Snape was an unfair teacher, but Ginny's instincts had always told her that he wasn't evil. And her instincts had never steered her wrong — at least when she let them steer her. _He is a spy; he has a front, a mask to show them and to protect. He can't help me._

"Dark Lord wanted some information, but she hasn't cracked yet, our lord is becoming impatient and wishes to extract the information himself. I'll be bringing her to him soon, just need to get some potions in her. She has been one of the more fun toys I've had, but she will be no fun after master is done with her. A pity, but I love to see the Dark Lord in action."

_Well, that sounds positively ominous,_ Ginny thought, _but it won't change much. I would have died soon enough here._ Her death had been inescapable ever since she had been captured, yet it didn't make the closeness of it any easier to bear. Ginny had logically known for over a year that Voldemort was back and his presence would increase her chances of dying young, but who thinks that they would die before they reach their fifteenth birthday? And now, even after two weeks in a cell with only morally challenged people for company death still scared her — she hadn't even done third of the things she wanted to do. _If, by some miracle, I get out of this alive, I'll tell Harry how I feel about him — damn the consequences!_

She was lost in thoughts, so she didn't hear the rest of Snape's and Bellatrix's conversation, but, somehow, it didn't seem all that important in the face of her death. Ginny was jerked out of her morbid thoughts by the footsteps of her torturer right next to her. When Bellatrix stopped by the exhausted girl's head and bent down to get closer to her, she shoved a potion down her prisoner's throat — it was Pepper-Up potion, to get Ginny to walk. Bellatrix grabbed Ginny's hand and forcefully pulled her up then proceeded to point her wand at the girl and tell her to move. And Ginny moved, even knowing that she was walking towards her death.

Cold fear was eating at Ginny's heart all the way to Voldemort's "Throne room". It wasn't actually a throne room, just an old ballroom where a chair that looked like a throne was placed. A room fit for a man that had no truth, no reality behind any of his words — just the power to inspire fear without anything else, no real charm to make people want to follow him — any charm he might have had was lost while slowly transforming into Voldemort. Voldemort wasn't anything like that charming sixteen year old boy that had made Ginny believe that he wanted to help her by letting her share secrets with him. In place of that boy stood a monster that was more snake than human — a man that loved to cause pain and suffering, thrived on these emotions. And his cruelty had probably only grown over time. At sixteen he was ready to kill his own schoolmates. Fifty years later he wasn't above anything that involved torture, killing and dark arts. It didn't make her future prospects very bright.

"So we finally meet eye to eye, Ginevra. How do you like my humble abode?"

"Oh, it's truly very humble. It's an old abandoned house that you probably stole from some muggles. Isn't it a bit against your code? Muggle scum and all that?" The Pepper Up potion had brought some strength back to Ginny, so she was able to answer. She knew that her chances of living were very bleak, so she wasn't above pissing Voldemort off. It might make her demise more painful, but something had broken in her while under one of the Cruciatus curses that Bellatrix loved — very few things could hurt her more than she already had been hurt and if Voldemort found one of those things, it would not matter anymore. In any other situation she wouldn't have done that, but after the two weeks she had had Ginny was very far from happy and all the emotions had to go somewhere and she knew this was her last chance to do something to the person that had turned her first year to hell. She might not be able to do much, but it would bring her a little satisfaction. Only death was in store for her and she wasn't planning to return as a ghost, so this was her last chance. Voldemort did what she expected him to do — put the most painful Unforgivable Curse on her. The pain hit her head on and she was on the floor, screaming, almost immediately. She was happy that no Death Eaters were present — no reason to give them even more entertainment than they had already gotten from her.

After Voldemort had enjoyed her screams for some time, he stopped the curse. When it was lifted, Ginny become aware of the fact that she was flat against the floor. Again. At least it was soothing for her flushed skin.

"I hope you have learned to keep your mouth shut, Ginevra. After all, we wouldn't want you becoming a vegetable." Voldemort paused for dramatic effect a bit, but Ginny knew what was coming next. "Yet." when this was said, he paused again to let these words sink in Ginny's mind. But by that point Ginny just didn't care — her body was aching, and there weren't any places that didn't hurt. Being brain-dead didn't seem too bad compared to that.  
>"So, Ginevra, Bella here tells me that you have been refusing to cooperate. You have been in our care for two weeks, yet your silence hasn't been breached. I find myself tired of this, girl. This is you one last chance to tell me what you heard of the Prophecy. If you'll talk, you'll be free."<p>

"I know nothing of your Prophecy. And even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you!" Ginny was expecting at least a Cruciatus, for the words that were oh so cliché, but it never came. Voldemort uttered only one word, and for a few moments Ginny thought that the spell, for it was obviously a spell, hadn't done anything. But then hot, searing pain ripped through her mind. Images that she could barely identify as her memories came and went faster than she could place them. That was until the Dark Lord reached the memories of the rescue mission. Ginny had to relive each moment and each second, and she had to feel the displeasure that came from Voldemort all the time, for he finally realised that she knew nothing and that there had never been anything to tell. Nothing that he found was related to the wording of the prophecy; nothing that was found in the girl's memories was worthwhile.

"It seems, Weasley, that you were telling the truth, but, for your previous comments, I give you this…" At these words he _ripped_ the girl's mind. All her memories, her thoughts and feelings came at her all at once. They were ripped out of their place and absolutely nothing was left standing, the memories losing the connection to Ginny's mind. She slumped down, nothing more than a vegetable now.

With a lazy flick of his wand, Voldemort opened the door that led out of his throne room.

"Dispose of her, Bella," he said to the woman that had been diligently watching the hallway by the door, making sure that nobody disturbed her master.

"Of course, My Lord. With pleasure." Voldemort watched while his most loyal servant levitated the Weasley girl out. It was a pity that a young powerful pure-blood had to be turned into a vegetable, but she would have never joined him. She was a muggle lover and the Potter brat's friend, even if he was dead. Ironically, Ginevra Weasley's last thought had been about him. _I won't get to tell Harry after all._ For a few moments the Dark Lord wondered about it, but it wasn't anything important to his future plans, so he soon forgot and went on plotting.

Bellatrix levitated the body of Ginny Weasley down the hallways, all the time thinking that it was a pity that her curses would not make the girl scream. She was still alive, but no response would be forthcoming after her mind was ripped apart. The girl didn't even move when Bellatrix dropped her — the first, the second or the third time. Bellatrix reached the hole without dropping the girl for the fourth time. Upon reaching it, she threw the still alive girl in it, then just turned around to get back to the run down manor, all the while thinking that Ginny Weasley would suffer for a while yet — even if she didn't realise or respond to what would be happening to her.

A shadowy figure watched Bellatrix making her way towards the hole that was used for body disposal these days. The figure saw Bellatrix drop the body, for he could draw no other conclusion as to why it would not respond in the slightest, and the flash or fiery red hair identified it as Ginny Weasley, one of his best students, no matter how much he hated to admit it. Severus Snape had very few students he would admit to be good, even to himself, and he never liked losing them. However, he knew that the little pang of sorrow he experienced was nothing compared to what the girl's family would feel.

_I hate to be the bringer of bad news_.

* * *

><p><strong>July 3, 1996<br>London, 12 Grimmauld Place**

"I call this meeting of the Order of the Phoenix in session." The few conversations that had been going on around the table stopped immediately. The atmosphere that had been sombre before, turned even more so when silence settled over the room. People with morose faces were settled all around the table, but most morose of them all were the Weasleys. They had suffered the most from the ill planned battle at the Department of Mysteries. Their daughter had gone missing, their son was in a coma and a boy that they loved as a son was as good as dead.

Not all that had come out of the trap turned battle was bad — the ministry was finally forced to admit that Voldemort was back and people had come to join the Order as soon as they realised that cowering in their houses would not be an option in the coming war. At least the ones who realised this fact had joined. Dumbledore just wished that it hadn't taken an attack on the ministry and the disappearance of the Boy-Who-Lived for this to happen.

"I'm happy to see many new faces here, but my joy is obscured by the recent loss of our members. In the last two weeks since Voldemort has come out in the open, members of Order of the Phoenix have been prime targets. Sirius Black is no longer the only one missing from our ranks."

The empty seats became more pronounced with these words, and the room's occupants became even more morose. Sirius Black, Jennifer Ilkeston, a muggleborn witch, Gerard Millen, an auror, Lenny Linderman, shopkeeper in Diagon Alley, were only few of those that had been lost in the past week. Neither Remus Lupin nor Molly Weasley had come to any of the meetings ever since the battle. Remus had lost the last two links he had to the happiest time of his life and Molly had a child in the hospital, a child missing and a child presumed dead.

"With Voldemort's increasing activity the Ministry has been seeking me out more and more and I no longer have time for the research on Veil of Death. I need somebody to continue this research. You all know how important it is." So far Dumbledore had had little luck on locating anything besides the book he already had about the Veil, but he knew that more people would help immensely, and the Ministry was really pressing him.

"I'll do it!" Reilly Jillens immediately jumped on this opportunity. She was used to deskwork, not field work — Ravenclaw through and through. And she knew that it would be her way of helping get their only hope back. Dumbledore had explained why Harry Potter was so important, he had had no other choice, but even then he hadn't told anyone the wording of the prophecy that Voldemort had been so eager to get. In the end there were few others that volunteered for research, but it was settled that Reilly would lead the team.

"Now that that's settled, we have another missing student. Right now I have no news of Ginny Weasley's whereabouts, but I've told our spy in Voldemort's ranks to keep an eye out for her."

Right at that moment, as if some higher power had planned it, Fawkes arrived in a burst of flames. Snape had been unable to come to the meetings in person for quite some time, in fear that his mental shields would let something important slip. Dumbledore carefully unrolled the slip of paper that Fawkes had presented to him and saw three dreaded words written in the loopy script of his potions master.

SHE IS DEAD

The old headmaster's face and demeanour betrayed his age when he spoke the words that were written on the small paper aloud. However, his thoughts were only partly on the dead girl. _Harry, please be alive and well. We need you, because without you there will be a lot more parents missing their children._

* * *

><p><strong>July 3, 1996<br>London, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

Hermione was looking at the ceiling of the hospital ward she was in. Now she could understand why Harry had hated being in the hospital wing so often, not only because of the injuries, but the boredom too. After a time the walls practically blinded you and if you had nothing to do besides look at those walls recovery seemed much more painful than getting injured. She should be at home already, reunited with her parents and relaxing. Instead she was stuck at St. Mungo's and it didn't seem as if the healers would discharge her before the walls had blinded her. _At least I am awake._

The last thought led her to thinking about one of her best friends, who hadn't even awakened since his run in with a brain. She knew that that kind of encounter and Ron's reaction to it usually would give so much material for jokes to his older twin brothers, but lately not one member of the Weasley family had been in the mood for joking. Ron was in a coma, that he possibly wouldn't come out of and Ginny was missing. And Harry, who had been an honorary Weasley since before his and Ron's second year in Hogwarts had gone through the Veil of Death. Even its name seemed properly ominous and Hermione held little hope of his survival.

At this thought her eyes filled with tears. _Stupid, noble prat, why couldn't you think for once?_ Harry had done so many stupid things over the years she had known him, but this was the stupidest of them all. Running into the Veil of Death after Sirius! Nobody had ever come back from there. And this time it wasn't even in Harry's power to make this right, but maybe, just maybe, his stubbornness would help him — either to find Sirius or to come back to them.

* * *

><p><strong>July 3, 1996<br>England, Little Hangleton**

There was a hole by an old manor in a place where most people wound just feel some an aversion to go to because of the smell. The only exception was when somebody needed to dispose of something. Lately these somethings had become more and more disturbing — previously the hole had been used to dispose of weeds and other unwanted plants, but ever since the death of one Frank Bryce the hole had been used by Death Eaters to hide the corpses of their victims. And the last thing that had been thrown in that hole was Ginny Weasley's corpse. But something odd was happening in this place — the air seemed to clear for a moment, the dreadful smell practically completely disappearing and a white light appearing. It was the kind of light that would leave anyone who looked at it blinded for a few moments after turning away, but for some odd reason there would be no desire to turn away. And the source of this odd light was the girl's body. Sadly, the light show didn't last long and the whiteness started to dim and the night return to its normal dark self, just like it had been before the appearance of the light. However, one thing was different. The hole was a little emptier — Ginevra Molly Weasley had disappeared.


	4. Hospitals and Mysteries

**Hospitals and Mysteries  
>November 2, 1981<br>London, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

"She's so cute!" said a sandy haired man, who was bent over a crib. "She looks very much like her mother."

"That she does, I just hope that she didn't get Lily's temper. I have enough with the one my wife already has."

"You always say that the temper is what you love in Lily." A teasing note sounded in Remus's voice.

"Yes, as long as it isn't me that she is venting her temper out on. And that happens far too often."

"Then all you have is hope for Azalea here. Hope that the famous redhead temper skipped this redhead."

"Moony, you can always hope, even if it seems downright ridiculous. And, if you haven't noticed, she isn't a redhead all the time."

Remus paused a bit, looking at the child and then around the pristine white room. Azalea, like the other two occupants of the room, was changing colours, even if her changes weren't as rapid as the other two's. "You are right about that, but she was born with red hair. And that means that her base form is red headed. I think there's very little hope for you of not having a daughter with a temper to match her mother's. But you know what would be worse?" Here Remus paused for a moment, giving James a chance to answer, but James remained stubbornly silent. "She could get your sense of humour and Lily's tendency for holding grudges."

At these words, James shuddered a bit. His wife was famous for her ability to be angry at a person for years. He had been at the receiving end of this particular personality trait for six years. Of course, he had given her more and more reasons to dislike him almost daily — breaking rules that Lily liked to uphold and playing pranks left and right, but the one thing that Lily's dislike had stemmed from had been the very first prank James had played on her — turning her hair green "to match her eyes". She had finally gotten her revenge in sixth year — turning him into a donkey right after they had finally mastered human transfiguration in McGonagall's classes. It was done "to match his looks to his personality", in Lily's words. A small shudder went through James thinking about the possibility of his daughter inheriting that kind of long memory and combining it with his sense of humour, which had never been tame in any sense of the word. _Her poor schoolmates will not know what hit them._

"How long will it be until Azalea can leave the hospital?"

"A week at most - she was born a bit early, so we want to make sure that everything is OK, plus the healers want to make sure that her ability doesn't harm her, but, thankfully, there's little chance of that. Still, they would like to be sure." James looked at Azalea and marvelled at how small she was. Harry had been a little bigger than that. Harry...

Remus saw James's rapidly clouding expression and it wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking about. Both of the elder Potters often had that kind of expression on their faces ever since Harry had died a year ago. The pregnancy had returned some of the life to James's and Lily's eyes, but Azalea's birthday being the same day that three month old Harry had died was painful reminder of what they had lost. Remus decided that his friend needed time to think for a bit without distractions, and this room was full of distractions in the form of three babies that changed colours.

"All this white is giving me a headache; maybe we could go and get some tea?"

James considered the suggestion for a moment, but his reluctance to leave the child was very great — he had lost one, and often thought about what would have happened if he had _just been there..._

"Prongs, she will be all right. The security is very tight, you know, and I don't think that anyone has any kind of reason to attack Azalea right now."

James still hesitated for a moment, but he knew that Remus was right. There were no prophecies about Azalea, no promises of her great powers or her inescapable death. With Harry it had been different — a prophecy that told that he would have power to vanquish the Dark Lord, but would be killed still in his infancy, without a chance to use that power. James didn't understand what was the point of a prophecy that just predicted death, a prophecy that wouldn't change anything in the bigger picture — in the end Voldemort would walk free anyway, because the one with the power to destroy him was dead. Dead because the prophecy had led Voldemort right to the one with the power. However, his little Azalea didn't have anything like that hanging over her head and James couldn't be more thankful for that. He hoped that she would have a chance to grow up, be it with her mother's temper or with his sense of humour — she was his daughter and he knew he would do anything for her, love her no matter what.

"I'm not in the mood for tea Remus, but I think I'll visit Lily."

Both men lingered by the crib a little longer, but pretty soon they turned to leave — one to get some tea, other to visit his wife. But by the door the black haired man lingered for a bit, letting his friend continue forward on his own. The things that made him pause were two cribs that resided in the room along with his daughter's. Unlike Azalea's crib, those cribs didn't have any names on them. A boy and a girl, both with powers to alter their appearance, just like Azalea. However, their powers were somehow more unpredictable — while the youngest Potter's changes were mostly limited to hair and skin colour, the two young, orphaned children had also changed their shapes several times. They hadn't grown any bigger or smaller, but thinner or chubbier seemed to be no problem for either one. Their colour changes also were more extreme than Azalea's. James thought that their skin or hair colours had been in all the colours he knew, and some that he wasn't familiar with, where Azalea changed her hair colours among those that could be seen naturally on people. Even healers admitted that the strength of the gift in the two nameless children was very odd and rarely, if at all, seen in children so young. However, everyone would have been much happier if that was the only thing out of the ordinary when speaking about two of the most recent additions to Britain's magical community.

The first oddity about the children was the way they came to be in the hospital. Neither had been born in St. Mungo's, they had been brought in the previous day, but not by their parents, as would be expected, but by people that were strangers to the children. The boy and the girl had been brought in on the first of November, when they had just turned a day old. The second odd thing was that, after performing the charms to determinate the time they had been born, the exact same time had been shown for both of them — 20:15 October 31, 1981, the same exact time that Azalea had been born. The third odd thing about the children was that no matter how many and how complex spells the healers tried, they couldn't find the names of the children's parents. Usually, the spells didn't work only if the children were muggleborn, but no muggleborn had ever had the ability to morph their appearances at will - it was a hereditary ability. For example, Azalea's grandmother, James's mother Dorea had been a Black and every few generation's metamorphmagus abilities popped up in that family.

James could only wonder who would be so cruel as to abandon a helpless child by the side of the road, as the boy had been, or just leave them in an old park with very little chance of being found before it became too cold, as the girl had been. The boy didn't seem any worse for wear after his adventure — he was a happy child that always made the nurses smile. The little girl, however, wasn't so lucky — she hadn't woken up, but the healers couldn't find anything physically wrong with her. James had heard talk of calling in a mind healer.

One other thing James found odd was the people who brought in the children. For the life of him he could not remember how they looked like or their names even. He knew that the stories weren't fabrications, because he was an Auror — he had checked with his colleagues, who had been called out to the places that the children were found in and both radiated of magic, the kind that young children emitted, with a distinctive flavour of transfiguration — mark of a metamorphmagus. But the people, who found the children, even if they were not liars, were suspicious characters. James tried to remember any detail he could about the two mysterious men, but a call from Remus distracted him and he headed out of the room that was a temporary home for the three newborns.

When he returned sometime later, all thoughts of the men responsible for bringing the two nameless children had left him and a feeling that they weren't important had taken roots in his mind, destroying any notion of pursuing the mystery.

* * *

><p><strong>November 5, 1981<br>London, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

The last day had been one of the most confusing ones in Sirius Black's life. He had had some bizarre nights and mornings when he had used to go out in muggle London to get wasted when he was younger. Often he had woken up in places that he didn't remember getting to, sometimes even wearing clothes that weren't his (Remus still occasionally teased him about one morning, when Sirius had turned up on his doorstep in a pink dress with his hair in a long braid — only thing that Sirius had been sure about was that no magic had been involved). However, this situation was completely on a different scale of confusing, the kind of confusing that could be called crazy. He was a baby that could change colours, couldn't stop changing colours. He was in St. Mungo's, along with Azalea Lily Potter, who was the daughter of two of his dead friends. That little girl had been born the day that he would forever remember as the worst day of his life — Halloween, 1981. Apparently, she was not the only one who was born that day — his new body came with a new birthday, it seemed.

The thing that was giving him the most problems was the new body — a body of a newborn child that couldn't go anywhere or ask any kind of questions. And he had tried, but even sitting up was impossible and anything he tried to say came out as complete nonsense — as if someone had put some kind of curse on him. This made Sirius very uncertain in the new situation he had been put in. However, there was one thing he was certain of — he wasn't dead. Sure, James and, apparently, Lily were here, but so was Remus, who had been alive when Sirius was hit with the curse from his cousin. The curse he had been hit was one of the darker spells that the Blacks taught their children — it was meant to create illusion of pain, similar to the Cruciatus curse, but concentrated in one place and took less power to cast. Sirius remembered the pain starting and taking a step back, just to feel something silky brush against him. Everything after that was a blur of colours, agony and periods of feeling absolutely nothing. He couldn't remember exact details of his trip to the hospital either, but from what he had gathered, it had been pretty colourful, almost as colourful as him.

The thing he did remember down to the smallest detail was the last scene that he had seen right before toppling in the Veil. Remus's expression as he held back Harry. Harry, who had been just about ready to run after his godfather, refusing to think that there was nothing he could do. Sirius remembered thinking that Remus's expression had been somehow odd — he had been hit with a curse that, while painful, wasn't fatal, but Moony had looked as if he had seen someone he cared a great deal about just die. In a way he had — it was possible that Sirius would never return home from here, wherever that here was. Sirius just hoped that Harry hadn't followed him here, because the last Potter hadn't been too opposite to that idea, judging by the way he had been struggling against Remus's hold. Sirius was surprised that Harry had managed to struggle even that much — some of the strength that Remus had as werewolf bled over to his human form and that made him one strong man, which Harry was not. Harry was a teenager, a scrawny and thin one at that. Only if his magic had decided to act up would he be able to break the hold that Remus had on him. Sirius let out a quiet sigh and with one last prayer that that everyone had gotten out of the Department of Mysteries in one piece, fell asleep.

Sometime later the sound of a door opening woke Sirius up. Through the open doors came a nurse — one of Sirius's most favourite ones. She was somebody who would fit for a job of a kind grandmother. She wasn't old, but her silver hair gave her the look of a woman that had seen many things, whose kind and always cheerful demeanour showed that she hadn't let those things stop her from finding joy in her life. The lines of laughter she had on her face made her look even kinder than the she already was and her smile was infectious. She looked around the room to decide to which of the babies to go to first. She swept her eyes around and soon came to a decision. The two of the parentless children were due for a feeding — the nurses had devised a schedule for feeding them, because neither of them ever asked for anything the way that babies usually would. The girl hadn't woken up even once and the boy just didn't cry.

"Hello, little one." The old nurse cooed, scooping up the little boy that was Sirius Black. However, there wasn't any possibility of her knowing that — she just knew that this baby was in the care of the hospital and she was one of the people that were responsible for him until a home could be found for him. "How long have you been awake? Aren't you hungry? Yes you are, aren't you? Here is the bottle, isn't it tasty?" The first time the nurse had tried to give him the bottle, he had done everything in his power to resist. However that wasn't much — maybe he wasn't a baby mentally, but the body that he was in was baby's. With time he had realised that resistance was futile and he needed to eat. He refused to think about all the diaper changes he had to go trough — he really hoped that this state he was in wasn't as permanent as it seemed.

While he was sucking on the bottle he was also looking around the ward that he was in. He remembered that the ward that Harry had been in after he was born was bigger. This one held just five cribs instead of ten. However, the other babies were what had always gotten his attention. Both of the girls were changing colours at alarming speed, but only one changed her features like he so often involuntary did. Like Tonks had done on purpose to entertain Harry's friends. Tonks was a metamorphmagus. That was probably the purpose of this ward — to separate the babies with metamorphing power from the other children. With the thought of Tonks' power and babies Sirius remembered something that his cousin Andromeda, had told him: _"Babies are very sensitive to magic that deals with physical changes. If a baby younger than a week with no metamorphic power is exposed to the company of an untrained metamorphmagus the baby without the powers can be physically affected, and not in a good way."_

She had also said that the power of changing ones appearance at will was very rare, but the other two babies in this ward seemed to prove her wrong. _And, somehow I also have the power. But how did I get it?_

* * *

><p><strong>November 7, 1981<br>London, Ministry of Magic  
>Department of Mysteries<strong>

Harry Potter was sleepy; of course, lately this state was something he indulged in quite often. He had heard that babies needed a lot of sleep in the first months of their lives. However, he had never thought that he would have the opportunity to experience it firsthand. He never thought that he would need to sleep a lot because he was a baby. For that was what he was — a baby. Baby who changed colours and the shape of his nose, mouth and even cheekbones from time to time — an odd baby but still a baby. He didn't know how long he had been like this, with all the time he spent sleeping, but he estimated the time gone by as somewhat close to a week.

Harry could make out very little of his new surroundings, his eyesight had remained as dreadful as it had ever been, — all he knew was that the room wasn't overly big, but it was bright and he was its only occupant. There were two people taking care of him — a man and a woman. Their voices, when they talked, didn't seem old but something in their presence, in their magic gave the impression of age much greater than even Dumbledore's, and Harry was sure that the old Headmaster was the oldest person he had ever met. He was pretty sure he wasn't in hospital and the people that took care of him weren't healers, but beyond that he had no idea — they had never spoken each other's names while in his hearing range, they tended to speak in pet names "darling", "dear" and such, and the faces he saw were always just a blur.

Harry was still sleepy, but refused to go back to sleep — he had already spent too much time sleeping! Usually, within moments of his awakening one of his caretakers would come to see if he needed anything. The young man turned baby was pretty sure that there was some kind of spell on him that alerted them when he awakened. He used the time he unexpectedly had alone to just think.

The new body was probably the result of the trip through the Veil — he remembered the pain that the fire had caused him at first and then the pain that had reminded him somehow of being stitched together. That was probably when this body was created. _But why do I have powers like Tonks has?_ Harry had no answers for this question, nor any other he might think of — doing research or even asking questions wasn't an option. He had tried, but it seemed that his vocal cords right now couldn't handle anything more than crying. One thing he knew about the trip that he had taken was that he felt lighter and nothing was messing with his emotions. He took that as a sign that whatever had destroyed his old body had destroyed his connection to Voldemort, too. But something was still off, something that had gotten added to him during the trip — his mind seemed muddled. Sadly, Harry had had no better luck figuring it out than any of his previous questions.

Harry's head turned when he heard the door opening. From the sound of the steps, they were the ones that usually took care of him.

"Sorry we were so long, little one." Said the blob of colour that appeared over his crib. "We were on the other end of the Department." They always talked as if he understood them. Harry did, but he doubted that many other children would.  
>Pretty soon he was lifted out of the crib by the woman and given a bottle. He was a bit hungry so he took it.<p>

"You are an interesting child, aren't you? You appeared out of thin air, changing colours and shapes from the very start and never crying. But then you are not the only one like that. You were the second boy to appear out of thin air and a girl arrived just after you. Did you know that?"

So, Sirius was here, that was good, but who was the girl? He didn't think that anyone would have run after him, that somebody would actually let three people be lost to the Veil in one day.

"You have a pretty strong magical bond to that girl."

Well, that was a surprise. He didn't know that many girls on a personal level, and bonds didn't start to form just because, that much he knew. So that narrowed the candidates down to two, maybe three girls.

"The bond started off as a life debt, a strong one at that — you almost died while saving her. And, it seems, she got really hurt while helping you later on. Usually this would render the bond void, but something else seems to connect you two. If you are wondering how I know this, magic always leaves a trace. Admittedly, there are all kinds of traces on all three of you, but the bond between you and the girl is the only magic that binds any of you three to another, which seems a bit odd, if you think about the circumstances that led you here. As to knowing how the bond first came to be, Department of Mysteries is here to study different areas of magic and bonds are one of the subjects we have studied extensively. Bonds that start off as life debts leave specific traces in your magic, and the strength depends on the sacrifice, on how much you were ready to give up just to save this one person." Now, only one person came to mind — Ginny. Sure, he had saved others (Hermione and Gabrielle came to mind), but he had never come as close to dying, while saving a girl, as when he was in Chamber of Secrets. And now she was hurt, because she had come with him to the rescue mission that turned into a trap, but how hurt would she be, if she followed him here. The woman that was holding him spoke again.

"She has been here for a week, but hasn't woken up. All traces of physical injuries were erased during your journey here, but the problem that is plaguing your friend seems to be a mental one. I think you can help her because of the bond you share, actually, I think it's your responsibility — once you save a life you are responsible for it, in a way."

Harry wanted to help Ginny — bond or no bond, no matter what the woman was saying. Ginny was his friend, but he was stuck in a body of a newborn and Ginny was god knows where. How could he help her? It seemed that that question somehow showed in his eyes and the old woman that didn't sound so old said to him.

"Go to sleep and think of her, the bond will do the rest."

* * *

><p><strong>November 7, 1981<br>Ginevra Molly Weasley's mind**

A teenage girl with flowing red hair stood in a bare field. She didn't know for how long she had stood there, but nothing had changed in this time. The field was still bare, only tufts of brown grass could be seen every few steps. The trees that stood guard around the field were dry and brittle — the girl had checked and any branch she touched just broke or turned to dust.

Suddenly a sound penetrated the silence that had surrounded the girl so completely. She didn't remember ever hearing a sound like that, but then, she didn't remember anything. _It's sound of steps — someone is coming_ - a little voice supplied — it seemed that at least some part of her remembered some things. The girl turned toward the sound and saw a boy step out of the trees. He seemed to take care not to touch anything. Upon stepping out of the tree line he stopped and looked around with his green eyes. Pretty soon they landed on her and somehow hesitant smile that was full of relief appeared on his face.

"Ginny..."

The name sounded familiar but, again, she could not remember, so she decided to ask the boy, to say word that she had no memory of ever learning or hearing.

"Who is she, do I know her?"

The boy's face seemed to fall at her question and any relief he might have felt moments earlier evaporated.

"You could say that you know her — Ginny is your name."


End file.
